Rojo
by La Querida Mia
Summary: Susannah really was insufferable, and the more I thought about it I decided it wasn't such a bad thing.
1. Pregunte Su Nombre

**a/n: I'm baaaaaaaaack. This is _Rojo_: Book Two in Jesse's POV. Technically this is a sequal to _Eterno_ but it can be read alone. Also, for those of you who don't know, I don't own the Mediator or do I currently have access to spell check. **

Chapter One: Pregunte Su Nombre

_"You'll tell him?" she asked me, eagerly. "Promise?"_

_"Sure," I heard myself say from lips not my own, "I'll tell him. Only who am I telling?"_

_The lady looked at me funny. "Red, of course," and was gone._

----------

I shook my head, feeling the dull tug at my navel lessen. I had been at the beach, watching the waves, when I felt the pull. A tug that seemed to come when... mediators were in danger? No, the lady looking for Red hardly seemed threatening.

Not sure what to make of the conversation I had just overheard, albeit unintentionally, I decided there was only one thing to do.

As I materialized in Susannah's room the girl looked up. _"What?"_ Her hair was mussed up from the pillow, her eye's squinty in the darkness.

"You didn't even ask her name."

Susannah rolled her eyes and leaned up on both elbows. "Like she gave me a chance."

I folded my arms across my chest, trying to be every bit as stubborn as Susannah was proving to be. "You could have asked, but you didn't bother."

I had used my firm voice. I didn't really like using it but sometimes... Susannah needed a firm voice.

"Excuse me," Susannah said, sitting up with the comforter still wrapped around her. "This is _my_ bed room. I will treat spectral visistors to it any way I want to, thank you."

God, how _frustrante_ could this girl be? Whenever I tried to help she pushed me away.

"Susannah, if you're going to do this, Susannah, don't do it half way." I was thinking of the other time I had seen Susannah doing mediator work. It hadn't been pretty.

"Look, Jesse," she said, not meeting my eyes. "I've been doing this a long time without any help from you, okay?"

"She was obviously in great emotional need, and you..."

"What about you?" she asked, "You two live on the same astral plane, if I'm not mistaken. Why didn't _you_ get her rank and number?"

_"Rank and what?"_

She sighed, sounding as if she thought it were my fault I had died over one hundred and fifty years ago. "Her _name,_ why didn't _you_ get her name?"

She obviously didn't know what it was like to be a ghost. _I_ didn't even fully understand it all the time. Those tugs? I had no clue were they came from or what they really meant. And the woman looking for Red? She could be in Mexico for all I knew.

I shook my head. "It doesn't work that way."

Susannah looked digusted for a moment. I would have elaborated but I couldn't. Then I noticed something else come over her; a look of pity followed by a stone cold mask of distrust.

"Look," she said, "I fully intend to help that woman. Just not now, okay? Now, I need to get some sleep. I'm totally wrecked."

"Wrecked?" I asked at the foreign term.

"Yeah. Wrecked," her eyes flashed with suppressed amusement. "Whacked, beat, all tuckered out, tired."

"Oh," I watched her for a moment watching me. As much as I hated to admit it... Susannah was a beautiful young lady, even with mussed hair. Sometimes I found that it was hard not to stare.

Finally I said with a sigh, "Good night, Susannah."

"Goodnight."

Her voice was muffled as she had just burried her head in her pillow. And even though I wondered about her ability to stay alive, I could not help but to smile.

Susannah really was insufferable, and the more I thought about it I decided it wasn't such a bad thing.

**a/n: review... this chapter is kind of short, I know. I'm just saving myself up for when Susannah's dad and Jesse meet. **


	2. Una Biblia

**a/n: I hope this isn't disapointing. I wrote it kind of quickly. i'm kind of shaken right now. I just found out that a close friend tried to commit suicide... Anyways, as usual, I don't own the mediator. **

Chapter Two: Un Biblia

It was a night of surprises.

I had been in the yard, propped up against a tree with a Bible, pictures illustrating each page as if for a young child. It was a great treasure, considering that the Ackerman's were largely unreligous. I had found it while passing time in the attic, laying on top of a dusty box. The embossed name, _"Sarah Davis"_ gleamed softly in the moonlight.

I had been reading 1 John; a book largely about words verus actions. To tell you the truth it was making me feel a little guilty. I had spent almost one hundred years without ever visiting the Mission to pray. I could _say_ that I knew the Christ but that would be lying, because I hadn't obeyed him.

Sighing I realized that even now I had alot to make ammends for.

I had just shut the Bible and was staring at the moon when I felt my nose twitch.

Somebody materialized behind me and I turned to look.

Standing behind me was a big, tall man with thick greying hair, wearing grey jogging pants and a T-shirt that read HOME PORT, MENEMSHA, FRESH SEAFOOD ALL YEAR ROUND. He looked familiar. I realized why when his eyes flashed green.

"Would you happen to be Jesse?" His voice was stern and as cold as ice.

I straightened up, setting the Bible down carefully so that it wouldn't tear. Looking up into his eyes I gulped. _I knew those eyes so well._

_What have _you_ done, Susannah?_

"Yes sir. And may I have the honor of learning your name?"

"Peter Simon."

I felt my brow slicken with sweat. This was Susannah's father? I had a feeling where this was going and I wasn't sure that I liked it.

"Pleased to meet you Mr... Simon. You wouldn't happen to be Susannah's..."

One of Mr. Simon's eyebrows rose, a mirror image of his daughter.

"Father..." I finished quickly. _Maldecirlo!_

I realized that if Susannah's father had been living his face would have been... _red_ with rage. Even so I would have never imagined him doing what he did next.

He punched me in the nose.

I didn't hurt as much as it would have if I were living but even so my nose began to bleed a little. Fumbling in my pocket I grabbed Maria's handkerchief and pressed it up to my nose. Mr. Simon eyed the curly _M.D.S. _with contempt.

"What do you think you are doing, leading my daughter on like that?" Mr. Simon shouted, blurring his _t_s in a thick Brooklyn accent. "My daughter is sixteen. _Sixteen!_ Do you hear? You're..."

He looked me up and down. My nose was beginning to heal and as if connected to me the handkercheif was as well. The red blossoms that had been flowering on the fabric were slowly begining to recede.

Deciding my age Mr. Simon continued, "You're at least twenty. Not including the century or so you've been dead!"

I winced.

Still shouting he went on, "I will not have some perverted ghost watching my daughter change."

At that I threw up my hands in shock. "_Perdon, _Mr. Simon but I do _not_ watch your daughter change. I'm usually not even there when she is. I have been used to my solitude for the past one hundred and fifty years. I spend time at the Church, or at the beach, or down here with a Bible. I only stay in my room by day. Just as I have for over a century, sir. How can you ask me to change that?"

"I do not care how long you've been here. My daughter lives there now!"

"I know, Mr. Simon!" I cut in franticly.

"Don't you interupt me, boy!"

He began ranting. Words melded together. When he seemed to be finishing I said, "Really, Mr. Simon. I do _not_ watch your daughter change. I have _no_ romantic interest in her. I- I..."

I tapered off, not sure what I was.

Mr. Simon appeared to be loosing some of this steam. I hesitantly placed Maria's handkerchief back into my pocket. My nose was back to normal except for the slight tingling of energy that was coming off Mr. Simon.

I noticed that Mr. Simon was eyeing the hankerchief, the blood had just disappeared, as well. He stared at where it disappeared for a while then cleared his throat. He looked a little embarrassed.

He mumbled softly, "I'm sorry... Jesse. I'm afraid I may have overeacted a bit. It's just that when I heard that my daughter had a _roomate_, a male one at that..."

"It's understandable," I said, feigning a smile. _Susannah would definately be hearing about this. _"I'd proabably be a bit concerned if you didn't care so. She is you daughter after all. But I can ensure you, my intentions are not dishonorable. If I have any intentions besides keeping her alive."

Relaxing Mr. Simon said, "Stubborn as usual I suppose. What did she do this time?"

I sighed. _This time. Did that mean there would be more._

"She attempted to reason with a demon from _infierno_, attempted to exorcise her, and then ended up buried alive in a pile of adobe clay. If I hadn't woken David up..."

Mr. Simon buried his head in his head. "Oh Susannah, what am I going to do with you?"

Feeling slightly defensive I said, "She was stressed. Hea- the demon attacked a priest."

Suddenly Mr. Simon straightened up, his eyes once again stern. Had I said something wrong? Had he seen some small action that could incriminate me? Susannah was beautiful, but I didn't love her. She was definately a friend, one I was quite fond of, but _love?_

"Are you sure you don't have any... _dishonorable_ intentions?" Mr. Simon asked.

I nodded.

Seeming to accept this Mr. Simon deflated.

"Well," he said, running a hand through his hair, "I guess I must take your word for now."

He turned to walk away and spotted the Bible sitting on the ground. He stopped. His voice sounded strangled. "Watch out for her for me, will you? Sometimes, sometimes I don't think she fully understands I'm gone."

I nodded solemnly. "Yes sir. I'll do anything to make sure that she doesn't come to harm."

He glanced back at me. "You're a good guy, Jesse. A regular gent." He said with an ironic smile and then dematerialized.

**a/n: review please. **


	3. Una Hiedra

**a/n: excellent reviews as always. I'd like to thank bbblfl for her constructive critisism and insight. It's always appreciated. As usual I do not own the Mediator. erm... enjoy!**

Chapter Three: Una Hiedra

I materialized outside Susannah's window just in time to see her sit up in bed looking with disbelief at a figure collapsed beneath her. The lady from the other night had returned and was wailing on the bedroom floor.

"_Why?" _the ghost moaned after she had stopped screaming. "Why didn't you _tell_ him?"

I watched Susannah's reaction closely from the window. To my surprise I saw that she was making great efforts to restrain herself. Careful not to raise her voice above a whisper she said, "I tried, okay?" There was a strain to her voice. "The guy's not the easiest person to get hold of. I'll get him tomorrow, I promise." She fixed a cheesy grin on her face. It took all my self restraint not to burry my head in my palm.

The ghost slumped down onto her knees. "He blames himself," she said. "He blames himself for my death. But it wasn't his fault. You've got to tell him. _Please."_

Her voice cracked horribly and I saw Susannah wince.

"Look, lady..." Then she stopped and seemed to compose herself. Taking a deep breath she said as softly as possible, "Hey. What's your name anyway."

I could not help but to smile. Susannah was obviously remembering the events of the previous night. Maybe she was not as stubborn as I had once thought. She was taking my advice at least. That had to mean something.

Sniffling the ghost on the ground went, "Please. You've got to tell him."

Susannah's cool compossure melted.

"I said I'd do it. Give me a chance, will you? These things are kind of delicate, you know. I can't just go blurting it out. Do you want that?"

"Oh, God, no," she said, "No please."

Amazingly Susannah did not roll her eyes. "Okay, then. Chill out a little. Now tell me..."

The woman dematerialized before she could finish and a look of disgust passed over her face.

I decided that I was going to show myself. Rematerializing in the middle of the room, I clapped softly. Susannah glared across the room at me.

"Now that, was your finest performance yet. You seemed caring, yet disgusted."

Susannah's eyes flashed a violent green, just as her father's had. "Don't you have some chains you're supposed to be rattling somewhere." God, how Susannah must hate me.

I walked over to her bed and sat next to her. I felt Susannah pull away from me under the covers instinctively.

"Don't you," I countered, "have something to tell me?"

Once again I was surprised. Her eyes, which were always so expressive, gave nothing away be innocence. She shook her head, "No. It's two o'clock in the morning, Jesse. The only thing I've got on my mind right now is sleep. You remember sleep right?"

I was amazed. Had Susannah not sent her father after me after all? Had her father attacked me of his own accord? Susannah didn't look as if she had any clue what I was talking about.

"I had a visitor of my own not too long ago. I believe you know him. A Mr. Peter Simon."

"Oh," she said, recognition flashing her eyes, recognition mingled with guilt. Gulping she flopped back down, pulling a pillow over her head. Her voice came out muffled. "I don't want to hear about it."

She _knew_ her father was coming after me. Of that I was sure. Without even realizing it, what usually happened when I lose control began occuring. The pillow Susannah had been holding over her head jerked out of her hands and slammed into the floor.

Susannah lay there, looking a little confused, yet knowing at the same time.

"_What?" _ she asked. Her voice had risen several octaves.

"I want to know why you told your father that there's a man living in your bedroom." I'll admit it. I was livid. This was _my_ room. It had always been. I had gotten angry when Susannah first came because she had tried getting me out. I had thought that after saving her _life_ she wouldn't be so eager to get me out. Appearantly I was wrong if she had gone to get her father to do the dirty work.

"Uh," she croaked, "Actually, Jesse, there _is_ a guy living in my bedroom, remember?"

I swear to God I almost rolled my eyes. Instead I caught myself and got up and began pacing. "Yes, but... but I'm not really _living_ here."

"Well," she said, cautiously, as if trying not to set me off again, "Only because technically, Jesse, you're dead."

" I _know_ that." I ran a hand through my hair. Susannah watched it's progress as I continued, "What I don't understand is why you told him about him. I didn't know it bothered you _that_ much, my being here."

"It doesn't," she said with out hesitation. She said it so... firmly that for a moment I thought she was confused. Did she even know what I was talking about?

"It doesn't what?" I said distractedly.

"It doesn't bother me that you live here." Right after she said it she wince, presumably for her own choice of the word 'live'. She continued, "Well, not that you _live_ here, since... I mean, it doesn't bother me that you _stay _here. It's just that..."

She looked confused. "It's just that what?" I prompted.

"It's just that I can't help wondering _why."_

I felt certain that I had heard her wrong. She was talking _very_ fast, after all.

"Why what?"

Susannah didn't meet my eye. "Why you're stayed here so long."

I just watched her. Her bright green eyes were... questioning, curious, annoyed, all of the emotions at once. Did she even realize that I myself had no clue why I was still here? I had always assumed that it was because God had some purpose for me to fulfill. This was all a part of God's plan. A verse from Ecclesiastes stood out. "_When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider: God had made the one as well as the other. Therefore, a man cannot discover anything about his future."_

Susannah interupted my thoughts. She looked awkward and I could not help feeling an overwhelming wave of fondness for the girl. She means well, I realized, whatever else she was, at least she meant well.

"Of course," she said, "if you don't want to discuss it, that's okay. I would have hoped we could have, you know, an open and honest relationship, but if that's too much to ask..."

"What about you, Susannah? Have you been open and honest with me? I don't think so. Otherwise, why would your father come after me like he did?"

Susannah sat up straight. "My father came _after _you?"

_Jesucristo! _What had I been talking about since I had materialized. "_Nombre de Dios, _Susannah, what did you expect him to do? What kind of father would he be if he didn't try to get rid of me?"

Susannah was mortified. "Oh my God, Jesse, I never said a word to him about you. I swear. He's the one who brought you up. I guess he's been spying on me or something." She blushed a little. "So... what'd you do? When he came after you?"

_What was the point?_ I shrugged. "What could I do? I tried to explain myself as best I could. After all, it's not as if my intentions are dishonorable."

I knew a few seconds later that I had worded my last sentance poorly.

"You have _intentions?"_ Susannah hissed.

I lost control again. The pillow I had thrown earlier slamed into her face. At least it was only a pillow. Susannah pushed the pillow away. "So what did my dad say?" she asked, "I mean, after you reassured him that your intentions weren't dishonorable?"

I sat back down next to her. "Oh, after a while he calmed down. I like him Susannah." His parting words rang in my mind. _A regular gent. _I could get used to that.

When Susannah snorted it sounded a little rueful, "Everybody does. Or did, back when he was alive."

"He worries about you, you know." I said.

"He's got way bigger things to worry about," she said sullenly.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Gee, I don't know. How about why he's still here instead of wherever it is people are supposed to go after they die? That might be one suggestion, don't you think?"

I answered quietly, "How are you so sure this isn't where he's supposed to me, Susannah? Or me, for that matter?"

I realized that Susannah was glaring at me. "Because it doesn't work that way, Jesse. I may not know much about this mediation thing, but I do know that. This is the land of the living. You and my dad and that lady who was here a minute ago... you don't belong here. The reason you're stuck here is because something is wrong."

"Ah," I said just to placate her, "I see."

Susannah looked doubtful. "You can't tell me you're happy here. You can't tell me that you've _liked_ being trapped in this room for a hundred and fifty years."

"It hasn't been all bad," I said with a smile, remembering the mornings when I would watch the fog roll in. I glanced over at Susannah. "Things have picked up recently."

Susannah's face turned red and she said, "Well, I'm sorry about my dad coming after you. I swear I didn't tell him to." She sounded desperate that I should believe her. For the second time that night I felt that wave of fondness wash over me.

"It's all right, Susannah. I like your father. And he only does it because he cares about you."

Susannah again looked doubtful. "You think so?" I didn't hear the rest. Instead I watched her pick at her bed spread. I was alarmed her hands were covered in a rash. I reached out and seized her fingers.

"What's wrong with your fingers?"

She glanced down at them, only looking mildly interested. It reminded of me of another time where she had been heart. Having accidently just cut her wrist all she could say was 'oh'.

"Poison oak," she said, "You're lucky you're dead and can't get it. It bites. Nobody warned me about it, you know. About poison oak, I mean. Palm trees, sure, everybody said there'd be palm trees, but..."

This was little better than her feeble 'oh'. She was rambling. I decided to interupt her. Medicine had been one of my little known interests when I was alive.

"You should try putting a poultice of gum flowers on them," I suggested.

"Oh okay..."

I frowned. "Little yellow flowers." She showed no recognition. "They grow wild. They have healing properties, you know. There are some growing on that hill out behind the house."

"Oh," she said, "You mean that hill where all the poison oak it?"

I rubbed my forehead. "They say gunpowder works too."

"Oh," she said, "You know, Jesse, you might be surprised to learn that medicine had advance beyond flower poultices and gunpowder in the past century and a half."

So much for gratefulness. I dropped her hands. "Fine, it was only a suggestion."

"Well," she said with a yawn, glancing at the alarm clock, "Thanks. But I'll put my faith in hydrocortisone."

I chose to ignore the last comment. Something had just come to me. Something about the woman. I remembered looking through the Bible I had found in the attic. I remembered a name written in the front.

"Susannah."

"What?"

"Go carefully," I said, "with this woman. The woman who was here."

She shrugged, once again glancing at her pillow longingly. "Okay."

"I mean it," I said, not at all sure she had heard me the first time, "She isn't... she isn't who you think she is."

"I know who she is," I said confidently.

I was surprised. "You _know_? She _told _you?"

"Well, not exactly. But you don't have to worry. I've got things under control."

"No," I saw it in her eyes. She _didn't _know. "You don't, Susannah. You should be careful. You should listen to your father this time."

"Oh, okay, Thanks. Do you think maybe you could be creepier about it? Like could you drool blood or something, too?"

Heaven knows I didn't not know what she was talking about half the time. Feeling tired I went to inspect the Bible further.

**a/n: please review!**


	4. Nombres

**a/n:As usual I don't own the Mediator. Oh how I wish I did. Also... I'd like to thank my fabulous reviewers. Ya'll are the reason I write!**

Chapter Four: Nombres

_Red. _I had heard it before. Materializing back outside to the tree I picked up the Bible. As I opened it several old church bulletins and bits of old stationary fell out. I put them in my pocket. At the front of the bible I found the name plate and important dates.

_This bible belongs to ­­Sarah Davis._

On the line below it _Cynthia Roberts_, was scrawled in childish letters and even further down, _Cynthia Ackerman, _in delicate cursive.

_Cynthia Ackerman. _

Furrowing my brow I looked further in. There under _Marriages_ was _Sarah Davis-Bill Roberts April 5th, 1958. _Then a little way down was _Cynthia Roberts- Andy Ackerman May 9th, 1980._

On the next page under _Births:_

_Cynthia Roberts: August 13th, 1960_

_Jake Ackerman: August 24th, 1982_

_Brad Ackerman: September 15th, 1984_

_David Ackerman: May 23th, 1988_

Turning one last page I saw the headline _Deaths:_

_Cynthia Roberts: December 20th, 1996_

It was written in blocky, shakey print, the handwriting I had seen on several of Andy's grocery lists abandoned on the kitchen counter.

This was Andy Ackerman's dead wife's bible. Maybe that was why I had found it covered in dust in a lonely corner of the attic. Maybe Andy couldn't bare seeing it. Was that why Andy no longer really pressed church on his children? The house was mysteriously absent of bibles except for this one.

I closed the bible and set it delicately aside. Instead I pulled the papers that had been tucked away from pocket and thumbed through them. Most of them were just church bulletins; stating that day's sermon and other activities that would been taking place the following week. Sometimes little notes would be written in delicate cursive on the margins. One would say, "_1 Timothy 4:12... remember to tell David." _Another would say, "_Sign Brad up for children's choir"_

But then there were also four letters written on pink stationary. There was one for Andy, Jake, Brad and... Red. The latter three were signed _love, Mom _while the former was _forever yours, Cynthia. _I noted that the once firm cursive wavered a little.

Suddenly it felt as if I were intruding on something private. I grabbed all of the papers and tucked them away again. The bible in hand I materialized back up in the attic, placing the bible back where I had found it. I was about to turn away from that box, it was filled with old picture albums and dresses, when I saw something gleam out of the corner of my eye.

Walking over I picked up a silver belt buckle. It was so covered with dust that I could barely make out what was engraved on the surface. Reaching into my pocket I found Maria's handkerchief. Even though Susannah's father had only attacked me less than an hour ago the handkerchief showed no sign that it had mopped up my blood. I hated the thing. No matter what I did to it it always came back. I could have had it burned and its ashes scattered in the Pacific only to have it reappear in my pants pocket an hour later. In perfect condition, too. It was a curse.

Trying to forget my anger I delicately wiped off the grime.

An ornate "_D"_ was engraved there, gleaming in my glow.

I dropped the buckle as if it were on fire.

"D"

Diego. It was his.

My murderer's.

How it got there I don't know. I didn't want to know. Controlling my panic I kicked the buckle away, into the shadows. Gaining courage I spat in its direction.

_"Not here," _I whispered, _"Not now."_

I was still shaking when I dematerialized.

**a/n: review... I beg you. **


	5. Beseme

A/N: I'm back! Y'all may have been wondering where I've been and why I haven't updated in such a long time. Well, something I've heard called real life (gasp!) intervened. Couple that with AP courses and the cut throat world of Newspaper staff. Now that I'm back I'll try to update regularly.

Chapter Four: Beseme

I didn't get to see Susannah that next morning so I didn't get a chance to drop a hit about the possible identity of Red, her own 'Doc'. I wondered who Susannah though Red was. I hadn't had a chance to ask her.

Reflecting on it I hadn't had a chance for a lot of things recently. When had my afterlife become so busy? Before I would spend hours upon hours simply watching the fog swirl in patterns along the floor boards. Now I was seemingly constantly doing something. When Susannah had come everything had changed and my existance had been put on fast forward.

I spent the rest of the night wandering the empty sanctuary at the Mission. It was quiet and meditative. Shortly before dawn however I had to leave. I didn't want to be discovered their by Father Dominic when he came to say his morning prayers. I'm fairly certain that Susannah has neglected in mentioning me to the good father thus far.

I took the time in walking home from the Mission instead of simply dematerializing, savoring in the sights and sounds that came with the awakening of life. It was very different, though, than when I had been alive. Now speedy automobiles slipped past, leaving a slight breeze in their wake. There was only the barest of wildlife. A few sea gulls wheeled over head. At one point I saw a feral looking cat slip into the bushes.

By the time I made it home I had missed Susannah who had seemingly gone off with some friends and had a full day ahead of me to do absolutely nothing. It was refressing. I finished War and Peace by one and then hung around Susannah's room.

Susannah really was an... interesting girl. My eyes lingered on a school photo of her. Her pale face had darkened since the picture was taken but her eyes still shone with that same fire. She had also taken to wearing her hair curly. It suited her.

I dematerialized downstairs and spent far longer than I wish to admitt inspecting Susannah's baby pictures.

It was after this long period that I realized that Susannah should be home by now and she wasn't. I listened to Brad tell her mother that she had gone off to some Beaumont 'guy's' place for the newspaper. I instantly became suspicious. As far as I knew Susannah didn't do the Newspaper.

I was pacing her room when I felt a tug. This one was different then any tug I had felt before it was...

_Her heart was beating. His lips were pressed against hers. Suddenly they opened and..._

I was in the back seat of a car and in the front some insolent boy had seemingly stuck his tongue down Susannah's throat.

After a second Susannah emerged with wide eyes. Seeing me she let out a little shriek.

The boy looked up started and blinked his eyes sheepishly. I would have liked nothing more to do something (I wasn't sure what just something) to him at that moment for being so forward. Susannah was after all, only sixteen. And while she was insufferable she was also impressionable.

"What's wrong?" the boy asked.

Susannah was still watching me with wide eyes. She looked nothing short of moritfyed.

"Oh, Please," I said, doing my best to keep my voice cool. "Don't stop on my account."

The mortification was gone and a look that rather resembled resentment appeared. Giving one the boy one quick acknowledgement and an "I've got to go," she fled the car. I glared at the boy and then followed her almost leisurely.

"It's your own fault," I said.

Anger cut through her voice. "How is it _my _fault?"

"You shouldn't," I said calmly, "have let him get so foward." She was only sixteen wasn't she? I had just been viewing her baby pictures after all. And her father had been angry with me?

She had begun to shout. "_Forward? _What are you _talking _about? What does that even _mean_?"

Unknowingly my voice began to rise as well. "You hardly know him and you were letting him..."

She whirled to face me. "Oh no, don't even _go_ there Jesse."

"Well, you were."

She hissed in my face, "_We were just saying good night!"_

Oh that was rich. Unawares my voice rose even higher. "I may have been dead for the past hundred and fifty years Susannah but that doesn't mean I don't know how people say good night. And generally, when people say good night they keep their tongues to themselves."

"Oh my God," she said, turning away and stomping in the direction of the house.

I shook my head and followed. "Yes, I did just say that. I know what I saw Susannah." I didn't have to add that I didn't like it.

"You know what you sound like?" she asked as she whirled about to face me once again. "You sound like jealous boyfriend."

I scoffed. Her, my girlfriend? She was like a little sister. I could never harbor...

Those sparkling green eyes, that smile, that scowl. The rush of anger I had felt when I had seen that _cad_ kissing her.

I shook my head quickly and continued.

A/N: Review please.


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